"You better be wearing something nice!" Harry heard Ginny yell up the stairs. "You've got thirty seconds until I'm coming up there."

Harry looked down at the black jeans and sneakers dubiously. They'd do fine, but he couldn't decide on a shirt. He knew which one Ginny would pick - the white collared shirt with conspicuously too few buttons. He quickly threw on the other, blue shirt and opened the door.

Ginny grinned at him. "Go on, let's see," she said with a smile that Harry was convinced was pure evil. "Do a twirl for us."

"Go on, Potter, do a twirl!" Malfoy yelled from the kitchen.

"Eat dirt, Malfoy!" Harry yelled back. He held his arms out to his side in a half shrug, half presentation. "It'll do, right?" he asked Ginny.

Ginny leaned around him and looked into the room. She spotted the white shirt on the bed. "No, it will not do," she said, exasperated. "How do you think you're going to meet anyone looking like you're going grocery shopping?"

Harry felt vaguely insulted, although she was probably right.

Ginny threw the white shirt at him. "Change," she ordered.

Harry sighed and changed shirts, while Ginny examined his quidditch board.

"Better?" he asked, with a wry smile.

"Much." she beamed at him. "Let's go." She linked his arm through hers and lead him down to the fireplace.

Harry caught a brief glance of Malfoy through the kitchen doorway, watching them curiously, before Ginny yelled their goodbyes, threw the powder into the fireplace and told the fire the address.

"Christ, Ginny, where did you find this one?" Harry asked, looking around desperately at the strobe lighting and floor length mirrors. Gusto's was written on every surface.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" she yelled back happily over the music.

"Er," Harry muttered.

Ginny pulled him over to the bar before he could answer. "Two Firewhisky's, thanks," she said.

"Make that one Firewhisky and a Spiced Mead," Harry corrected. "Don't ask," he muttered to Ginny when she looked at him questioningly.

They perched on bar stools to have their drinks and surveyed the area.

"So, why are we here?" Harry asked.

"You know why we're here," Ginny said through narrowed eyes.

"Yes, but why now?" Harry amended.

Ginny waved a hand. "If you're going to get anywhere close to coming out by the time Rom and Hermione come home, you're going to need some proper incentive. Besides," she added, looking at him sideways. "I thought that if you were going to do it, I could do it, too, and we could get it over with together."

Harry suddenly felt a wave of guilt. He leaned over and squeezed her hand. "If you want to tell your family, just say so. We'll do it together. Whenever you're ready."

Ginny squeezed back and smiled at him. "It's okay," she said. "I don't mind waiting. But it would be nice if we both found someone, wouldn't it?"

Harry found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could love her as more than a sister. But then, unless she loved him as more than a brother it wouldn't really solve anything, would it? Ginny was streets ahead of him in accepting her future, having already dated a couple of girls, although it never worked out. But dating someone and telling Molly Weasley that Ginny was unlikely to ever give her grandchildren were too totally separate things. Harry could understand why she wanted his support when it happened.

A man in his early twenties caught Harry's eye. He nodded his head at the dance floor and looked back at Harry, questioningly.

Before Harry could think of a way to Apparate without looking like a coward, Ginny shoved him forward. He looked back at her beseechingly, but she immediately started flirting with the woman next to her.

If he didn't man up, he was going to end up ruining Ginny's night. He turned back to the dance-floor and found the man waiting for him. Harry found himself very thankful for the strobe lighting that made it impossible to see how much of a terrible dancer he was, and joined the man on the floor.

"I'm Joe," the man said, swinging his hips closer to Harry so that they were suddenly dancing up against each other.

Harry fought the urge to jump back, told himself he was doing this for Ginny's sake - and, okay, maybe a little for himself - and went with it.

"Harry," Harry replied, touching his forehead surreptitiously to make sure the glamour that hid his scar was still in place.

He glanced over at Ginny and saw that she was already snogging the pretty girl she had been talking to. Harry stifled a laugh and turned back to Joe. Joe saw where he was looking and grinned.

"They've got the right idea," he suggested, draping an arm across Harry and slowing his movements down so that Harry was forced to join him. Harry had to admit, feeling Joe press against him, it did seem like a pretty good idea.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sure it probably had been a good idea, but something had gone terribly wrong along the way and he was suddenly, inextricably, in too deep.

He looked around frantically for Ginny, leaning around Joe, who was currently preoccupied with Harry's neck. There was nothing especially wrong with this preoccupation, but something was telling Harry to get out. Now.

He caught Ginny's eye as she was exchanging phone numbers and mouthed "Help!"

Even across the floor, he could see her roll her eyes. The girl she was with stood up to leave - she was obviously part of a large group that was moving on - and Ginny came over. She pulled out her wand and Harry watched her cast a quick confundus charm. He felt Joe slide away from him, dazed, and made a break for it.

"Thanks!" he breathed when they were safely on the other side of the room.

She looked at him and shook her head. "What was wrong with him?" she asked. "He looked nice enough."

Harry shrugged. Ginny seemed to realise that he didn't want to talk about it, and didn't push the issue.

They stayed until late, although he noticed that Ginny didn't leave him along again. They danced as a group with a few people, but although it wasn't a bad night, Harry was glad when it was over.

"Sorry you had a bad time," Ginny said to him quietly as they made to leave.

"I didn't," Harry said, shaking his head. "I just didn't really want to be with any of these guys. Like you say, I want to meet someone. Being with people like this is like meeting a brick wall with lips."

Ginny laughed. "I guess you're right."

"No, you're right," Harry said, smiling at her. "This was a good idea. It showed me what you've been saying all along: I do want to meet someone."

She beamed at him. "Really?" She gave him a quick hug. "I'll pick somewhere better next time, I promise."

Ginny left first, for the Burrow, before Harry Floo'd home to Grimmauld place.

He was surprised to see Malfoy still up, reading in the living room when he arrived.

"Good night?" he asked without looking up.

Harry grunted noncommittally.

"I thought Gusto's was a gay bar," Malfoy said conversationally.

Harry started, and then remembered that Malfoy would have heard when Ginny said the address into the fire. Dammit. "Is it?" Harry asked lightly. "That would explain the leather." He moved past, toward the stairs. "Night."

"Good night," Malfoy said.

Harry turned back just before the stairs and saw Malfoy was watching him. Malfoy's eyes slid to Harry's neck.

Harry turned and walked up the stairs.

Harry's hangover caught up with him the next morning, while Malfoy spent breakfast being maliciously cheery.

"Quidditch, today, Potter?" He asked loudly, rattling the spatula against the pan as he served his eggs.

Kreacher leaped forward and whipped the pan out of his grasp, muttering something about Masters performing menial tasks below their station.

Harry's head hurt too much to correct Kreacher's use of title.

"Sure," he said through gritted teeth, refusing, somewhat stupidly, to be outdone by Malfoy. So what if it felt like his brain was going to dribble out his nose? It would pass. Eventually.

"Excellent," Malfoy said with a beaming smile. He passed the tomato sauce to Harry, slamming it sharply down onto the table in front of him.

Harry winced. "What did you get up to last night?" Harry asked finally, in an attempt to distract Malfoy's attention from the decibel possibilities of inanimate objects.

"Nothing as exciting as you, by the look of it," Malfoy said with a wicked smile. "Want to talk about it?"

Harry wasn't sure at what point in the last forty-eight hours they had reached such civility, however malicious it may be, but he fervently wanted it to cease.

"No," he said shortly.

Something flashed across Malfoy's eyes, but it was gone too quick to identify. Harry stared at him, wondering again what was so different about Malfoy that it was now possible for Harry to be in the same room without plotting his untimely demise. By comparison to the last seven years, their bantered insults of the last couple of days were positively jovial.

"As you wish," Malfoy said, with a mocking sigh. He set into his breakfast, scraping his cutlery across the plate at every opportunity.

Harry focused on his own breakfast, which was delightfully greasy, and wondered whether he was going to regret his offer of quidditch.

An hour later, when he was standing on the newly charmed oval, he decided there was no possibility he could ever regret quidditch. Straddling the broom, he pushed off into the air and felt a rush of delight. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to fly.

He heard a whoop below him, and looked down to see Malfoy making fast circles, looping toward the trees in the distance. He laughed, realizing that Malfoy was experiencing exactly the same enjoyment as he was.

"Race you to the pitch, Potter," Malfoy yelled from his position, several metres closer to the pitch than Harry.

Harry laughed and sped forward. He nearly beat Malfoy, despite the headstart, and they settled for doing quick laps around the oval, getting faster and faster as they went.

Finally they slowed to a hover in the middle of the oval and looked at each other. Malfoy's eyes were bright with excitement and his hair was tangled lightly. Harry realized it wasn't filled with the usual concoction of grease and product that normally held it so perfectly in place.

That was when it hit him, what was so different about Malfoy: he was no longer trying. He wasn't seeking approval anymore. There had always been something so tense about Malfoy, so desperate for approval from everyone around him. Now that was gone and the barbs he threw at Harry didn't cut the same. They weren't so cheap. If it wasn't for the obvious fact that they both still hated each other, it would almost be friendly ribbing.

And even that... he wasn't sure he could say he hated Malfoy at the moment. Without that constantly grating need for attention, he wasn't half as annoying. In fact, he was almost relaxed. Normal.

The question now was why?

"So, what do you know about the Seekers' run?" Malfoy asked, drifting back and forth in lazy circles.

"Speed and reflexes," Harry answered promptly.

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "That's obvious. Do you know how to lead? How to follow?"

Harry looked blank.

Malfoy smirked. "Thirty second intervals." He waved his wand over each of their brooms. "They'll screech when it's time to switch." He flew around until he was on Harry's right. "Right leads," he said. Without any further warning, he burst forward, leaving Harry to catch up.

Harry sped forward, grinning when he caught up easily to Malfoy. Malfoy immediately sped up, Harry following.

"Too easy, Malfoy," Harry teased.

Malfoy immediately banked left, into Harry. Harry just managed to avoid a collision, banking left until they were in perfect parallel again. He realized suddenly that Malfoy wasn't just talking big – he had done this before. He turned his attention to the front, ignoring the blur of trees and grass moving past him, and focused on nothing but Malfoy in the corner of his vision.

Malfoy banked right. Harry followed a split second behind. Suddenly a scream ripped through the air. Malfoy flew in a complicated spiral over Harry, falling into place at Harry's left. Harry realized that it was their brooms screeching the thirty second change, and he banked hard to the right.

Malfoy followed immediately. Harry felt he had the hang of it now and immediately pulled his broom into a steep climb. Shoulder to shoulder, they rose until Harry pulled his broom sharply down.

Malfoy didn't miss a beat. Their brooms screeched and they switched places. Malfoy seemed to have picked up on the unspoken idea to step it up, and began banking left, right, up and down in quick succession. Harry couldn't help but grin as he realized he had no trouble keeping pace.

They switched again, almost pre-empting the scream. Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy. The two of them were so focused on each other that even that small movement drew Malfoy's immediate response. He flicked a glance back at Harry and grinned, his arrogant smirk a challenge.

Harry grinned back and pulled his broom back into another climb. This time, he spiraled. Together they pushed higher and higher, spinning around each other in perfect unison.

They switched back and Malfoy brought them into a steep dive, aiming straight for the centre of the oval. The ground rushed toward them, and Harry had the fleeting thought that Malfoy was playing with him, a deadly game of chicken.

Malfoy pulled them out of the dive with less than twenty metres to spare.

Suddenly Harry's broom screamed "Time!" They coasted to a halt two metres from the ground and dismounted, falling onto the grass.

The sudden drop in adrenaline forced Harry's body to catch up with recent events, and he felt suddenly ill. He sat up cautiously, breathing as slowly as he could manage in the aftermath of such intense exercise.

Malfoy's breaths beside him were coming fast and shallow.

"Not bad, Malfoy," Harry said, slowly getting his stomach under control.

"Not bad, yourself," Malfoy replied, sitting up and running his hand through his hair. It was a useless effort.

Suddenly Harry's stomach gave up the fight. He pitched over sideways and heaved. This morning's breakfast, last night's dinner, and everything in between came up. When it had subsided to the final retches, Harry felt Malfoy's hand on his back. Malfoy rubbed slow circles across his shoulder blades, letting the last shudders pass.

It was different to if Ron had been there. Ron would have patted him awkwardly on the back and probably made the whole thing worse by smacking him too hard. Malfoy seemed unaffected by the mess, and casually sat there, his hand making soothing strokes until it was over.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and looked up at Malfoy. Malfoy let his hand drop, resting it behind him and leaning back casually. He met Harry's eyes, but said nothing.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when his stomach gave another lurch.

Malfoy smirked. "Lightweight," he said.

Harry punched him lightly on the arm. "You can talk," he muttered.

"Come on," Malfoy said, standing up. "Let's go home."